


Before the Curtain Closes

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, deceit mentions, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: It’s been three weeks since Logan and Virgil nearly died saving Patton from the Morel House. So, of course, they’re both anxious to get back to ghost hunting as soon as possible. But searching for the truth behind the Royal Theater fire — and the ghost of Roman Kingsley — could put them in more danger than they ever imagined.





	Before the Curtain Closes

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO
> 
> THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF A RAMBLE POST I DID ON TUMBLR A WHIIIILE AGO which can be found here: https://rose-gold-roman.tumblr.com/post/181859760624/ghost-hunter-au
> 
> if you dont wanna read it heres what youve gotta know: virgil and logan are ghost hunter youtubers (think buzzfeed unsolved style) who discover a real demon (patton) under the control of a cruel human (deceit) and they free him
> 
> warnings for the ramble part: deceit, blood, death

The supernatural was real. 

They walked, breathed, lived among us, mysteries to solve, histories to unfold. They were out there.

They were  _dangerous._

Virgil Raiden couldn’t stay away.

You’d think he’d  _want_  to, considering the supernatural — namely, a trapped demon and an immortal murderer — had nearly killed him and his best friend nearly three weeks before. But he was drawn to it just as much as it seemed drawn to him, and it would take more than one near-death experience to keep him away.

The trauma of the Morel House wasn’t lost on him. He’d nearly lost his life — and, worse, he’d nearly lost his best friend, Logan Westbrook. The scars on his wrists and his back were still healing, and he’d never, ever drive the image of Dolos Morel crumbling to dust under his own demon’s power from his mind. But in the same way it terrified him, it  _excited_  him. This was proof! The supernatural  _was_ real, he had been right all along!

Of course, the cameras had all been broken and/or incinerated in demonic fire, and none of the footage was even close to salvageable, and he wouldn’t reveal the truth anyway, not after befriending the demon — but still. Still. The stories he’d grown up on, the ones he loved and feared with all his heart, were true.

So he wasn’t about to give up on them just because he’d nearly died. Besides, he had a youtube channel to run. Supernatural stories and ghost hunts were sorta his thing now, he wasn’t about to put his entire career on hold. He loved the supernatural too much to ever do such a thing.

So when he found an article on a little-known “ghost” in a little-known town, it was no surprise that his first reaction was pure excitement.

“I found our next stop,” he says, shoving his phone into Logan’s hands. Logan fumbles with it for a moment, caught off guard. “A theater burned down there, like, 60-something years ago. They say the spot is haunted by the spirit of the man who died in the fire.”

Logan shoots him a look —  _are you sure?_  says the concern in his eyes — and then scans the article. He’s silent for a long moment. “It does look interesting,” he admits, returning Virgil’s smile. Inwardly, Virgil cheers. “Let’s go find this  _Roman Kingsley.”_

And Virgil plans for the trip with the over-excited fervor of a man kept from his passions for far too long. Because three weeks _is_  too long for him, when he’s spent his entire life pursuing these wonderful, terrible things. Within a few days, Logan and Virgil set foot in the tiny, nearly abandoned town of Sandville, and get to work.

They have new gear, new cameras, new everything. The only exception is Virgil’s spirit box, which is older than either of their channels. He holds it tightly to his chest as the two set off to the crumbled remains of the Royal Theater.

“In 1953,” Logan begins, sweeping his camera across the burned, ashy site, “the Royal Theater burned down under mysterious circumstances. The fire is believed to have been set on purpose. Only one man perished in the fire, a young actor by the name of Roman Kingsley.”

“And legend has it,” Virgil cuts in, with a dark chuckle that makes him feel lighter, “his spirit still haunts this very spot, furiously waiting to burn the world just as the world burned him.”

“Yes, well. The validity of that claim remains to be seen,” Logan remarks, with an air of skepticism so familiar that Virgil can’t help but smile.

“People have reported ghostly screaming and unusual heat centered around this spot, and some have even claimed to have woken up the next morning covered in burns.” Virgil smirks. “A coincidence? Or the rageful spirit of Roman Kingsley, exacting his fiery revenge?”

“Either way, I am sure this night is going to be… lit,” Logan says.

“Pun,” Virgil points out, and Logan swears under his breath. Virgil can’t hear him fully, but he makes out the word “Patton” and smiles. That friendly demon has had more impact on Logan than he’d ever admit.

They set to work. Virgil’s more than ready to prove the existence of this ghost, to solve the mystery of the Royal Theater fire once and for all. He’s been spending too much time around Logan; he can practically hear the Sherlock theme as he puzzles over the fire, struggling with the spirit box and the Ouija board and every other way he can think of to get the ghost to come out.

But the night drags on — and no ghosts appear. It’s a bust. Virgil can smell smoke, sure, but as Logan points out, they’re practically surrounded by forest, and it’s a dry fall. He tries not to feel too disappointed as he packs up their gear, but he can’t help it.

“After careful consideration,” Logan says to the camera, “it’s obvious that the legend of Roman Kingsley is just that: a legend. As for the mystery of the Royal Theater, for now it will remain… unsolved.”

It’s a weak outro, and Virgil knows Logan’s rushing so they can get back to their hotel room and be done. Useless leads get him just as disappointed as Virgil, though for a different reason: it’s harder to make good, entertaining videos out of boring footage.

But for Virgil, the disappointment is sharper, closer to his heart than his channel statistics. Sure,  _most_  ghost stories were just stories, and getting  _good_  footage was always a struggle, but… after the events of the Morel House, he’d been hoping for more.

He’d befriended a demon and taken down an immortal, why couldn’t he find a ghost?

“Sorry,” he says as they collapse onto their beds at the hotel room. “I really thought this would be a good one.”

“It is no problem, Virgil,” Logan says. “It is better to pursue a lead for all the knowledge it has to offer than ignore it entirely. Besides, a good majority of the footage from tonight is useable.”

“Right, yeah,” Virgil says, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Just frustrating, y’know? After Patton, I just… had my hopes up.”

“Understandable.” Logan nods. “After all, who  _wouldn’t_  be excited at the prospect of meeting a man who burned alive decades ago?”

Virgil throws a pillow at him. “Sarcasm is my thing, asshole, don’t step on my turf,” he snaps playfully.

“Oh, I’m  _so sorry,”_ Logan retorts, in a voice drowned in sarcasm. “I’ll  _never_  do it again.”

“Falsehood,” Virgil snaps with a laugh, and Logan snorts, throwing the pillow right back. “See? Doesn’t feel good when someone takes your thing!”

“Hey, hey, tell you what,” Logan says, holding up his hands as a peace treaty as Virgil aims the pillow. “Let’s take tomorrow off. We can watch some of those bloody horror movies you enjoy so much. Would that satisfy your strange need to see dead people?”

Virgil rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and there’s fondness swelling in his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Should stave off my bloodlust, too,” he jokes.

“Oh, that is relieving to hear. I was getting worried.” The two share a look before bursting into laughter, and as Virgil holds his stomach and laughs, he begins to think that maybe the night wasn’t such a bust after all.

He falls asleep easily that night, still warm with the aftertaste of laughter and the thought of spending the whole day with Logan tomorrow. He expects to sleep well,

He’s awake again an hour later.

Insomnia doesn’t give a shit about his happiness, or the warmth in his chest. All it cares about is keeping him awake — and, apparently, keeping some Disney song stuck in his head, looping on repeat. As if a sleepless night wasn’t annoying enough.

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and hisses out a near-silent groan. It’s the worst, most grating kind of insomnia tonight, not something cured with chamomile tea or counting sheep. His whole body buzzes with restlessness, and he hates it.

He needs to  _do something._

Careful not to wake Logan, he slips out of bed and pulls on his hoodie, slips his phone in his pocket, and slips out the door. The too-cold night air feels incredible on his skin. Hardly anyone lives in the tiny town, and that’s exactly how Virgil likes it; dark and quiet enough to let the stars truly  _shine._

He walks. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he’s not surprised when he ends up back at the Royal Theater. He can still smell smoke, he notes, and the air around him is much warmer than before. He yanks off his hoodie and ties it around his waist, sinking to the ground and folding his long legs beneath him.

And he just… sits. No spirit box, no ouija board, no cameras or banter or mystery to be solved. Just him and the stars and the warmth around him. It’s nostalgic in the best kind of way, just like how it used to be, before he’d even started his channel; back when visiting haunted spots was a rare treat, when ghost stories were his only friend.

He sighs, falling onto his back in the ashy dust. He’ll regret this later, when he has to scrub the dirt and ash from his clothes, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The restlessness is beginning to seep from his bones, and he feels at ease.

He lifts his hand, tracing the stars with his finger. Logan had taught him the names of all these constellations, years before. He forces the Royal Theater and Roman Kingsley from his mind, and ignores the scent of smoke floating through the air and the thoughts floating through his mind. Ghost stories can wait; this time belongs to the stars.

In true Virgil fashion, his insomnia doesn’t begin to fade until the night fades first. No wonder Logan calls him a vampire. As the sun just begins to crest over the horizon, spreading dust pink through the sky, Virgil watches the stars blink out one-by-one and hums to himself.

It’s the song that’s been stuck in his head all night, that Nightingale tune from Cinderella. He hums it to the end and hopes against hope that that’ll banish it from his head, and then sits up.

And screams.

A figure stands across the lot, wavering in the breeze. He stares at Virgil with wide eyes, mouth just slightly agape, and Virgil jumps to his feet, his eyes wide to match. The figure seems burnt at the edges, and faded, like the remnants of a picture saved from a fire. His elaborate prince costume is singed and dusted with ashes.

Time seems to slow. Virgil can hardly believe his eyes.

“Roman?”

The ghost glows a little brighter. Virgil can’t help but think that his light looks like fire, flickering red-orange. Roman opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a pained, crackly noise, like a dying flame.

The ghost holds his throat, face contorting with frustration, and begins to fade away. Virgil acts on instinct, shooting forward and holding out his hands, and Roman Kingsley shoots backwards, his light flaring. He’s nearly gone now, and Virgil feels like he’s slipping right through his fingers. How can he make him stay? What even brought him in the first place?

 _Singing,_  he realizes with a start. Duh. He’s an  _actor._

So Virgil raises his hands in a silent show of peace and sinks to the ground, and begins to sing. He must be in a Cinderella mood, because the first song that pops into his head is  _A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes._  Inwardly, he winces at how crackly his voice is.

But the ghost doesn’t seem to mind. He watches, head tilted to one side, his glow wavering in and out uncertainly. Slowly, slowly, he becomes solid again, or at least as solid as a ghost can be — and then, slowly, he floats to the ground at Virgil’s side.

Virgil doesn’t stop singing. He looks at Roman, and Roman looks at him, and a million questions explode in his mind, but he holds them back. Roman barely looks older than him, but his eyes hold so much  _pain._

So he sings, mumbling over the parts he doesn’t quite remember, and Roman watches, enraptured. The ghost opens his mouth and crackles along to the song, his face lined with sadness and something deeper, something indescribable.

Virgil swears he can hear a hauntingly beautiful voice through the noise.

The song draws to an end as the sun fully crests over the horizon, spilling light across the world. Roman Kingsley meets his eyes — and Virgil, with a pang in his chest, notices tears gathered in the corners. Roman inclines his head —  _thank you,_  he seems to say — and then Virgil blinks and he’s gone.

Virgil’s heart aches with a pain that he’s not sure is his own. Shaking, he climbs to his feet, wiping dust from his hands. He unsteadily backs away from the burnt lot, staring at the spot where Roman had been — and the moment he’s off the property, he breaks out into a run, and doesn’t stop until he’s back at the hotel room.

“Logan!” he cries, flinging open the door with such force that it slams against the wall and knocks things from the shelf. Logan screams something like “whahuppin” and rockets up, gets tangled in his sheets, and falls to the floor with a thump.

“Shit, are you okay?” Virgil is by his side in an instant, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table and shoving them into Logan’s hands.

“Virgil?” Logan blinks. Once he’s sure there’s no danger, he silently reaches up to his bed — and swiftly brings his pillow down, slamming it into Virgil’s face. “What the  _hell_  was that for?”

“Something happened — I was just — you’re not going to  _believe_  —” He can’t get a coherent thought out, he’s too excited, too overwhelmed. Logan holds up a hand, lifting it and then lowering it in a familiar pattern, and Virgil breathes along until he’s got a hold on his thoughts. “Okay, so, I was at the Royal Theater, and I-I saw him!”

Logan is at attention in an instant, his eyes flying open wide. “Him? You mean Roman Kingsley?”

“Yeah, duh! I was just — just sitting there, uh…” He averts his eyes. “… Singing to myself, and he appeared! He sang with me!”

“He… sang with you?”

“Well, he’s an actor, it makes sense if you think about it.” Virgil sits back against the boxspring of his bed and shoves his hair out of his face. He feels invigorated. “I want to go back. With the spirit box. If I can get him to talk —”

“We can solve the mystery.” There is is; that Sherlock-style intrigue fills Logan’s eyes and he’s wide awake, his mind moving faster than Virgil could ever comprehend. “If he knows who set the fire — if anyone — he can tell us.”

“Exactly.” Virgil helps Logan to his feet, and the two set off. Virgil holds his spirit box to his chest, practically vibrating with excitement. The sun is high in the sky now, and Virgil has barely slept an hour, but he doesn’t feel the slightest bit tired.

He sits in the center of the blackened lot, and Logan sits by his side. A moment passes, silent, and Virgil grabs the first Disney song that pops into his head and starts singing.

“Nightmare Before Christmas?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow, and Virgil shoots him a look that clearly says  _‘do you even know me?’_  He’s much more comfortable singing this than Cinderella. With a bit of prompting (and some harsh elbowing), he even gets Logan to sing along.

But Sally’s Song comes to an end, and the prince hasn’t appeared. Virgil sighs, eyebrows furrowing.

“I  _swear_  he was here,” he says. “I know I saw him.”

“Virgil, are you sure it wasn’t simply a dream?” Logan suggests, and Virgil shakes his head, even though he’d wondered that himself. He picks at the edge of the spirit box, disappointed. Why isn’t Roman showing up? Is it because Logan’s here? Did he not like Virgil’s song?

The realization hits him them, and it’s so obvious that he can’t help but laugh.

“Nightmare Before Christmas came out decades after he died.  _Duh.”_

“Does that matter?” Logan asks, peering around the lot. “If he is attracted by singing, the release date of the song should have no effect.

“Dunno, man, maybe he’s just a massive Disney fan?” Virgil shrugs, playing with the strings on his hoodie. He thinks for a moment, until he’s sure he’s found a song from Roman’s time, and begins to sing.

 _Someday my Prince Will Come_  isn’t exactly his style — and he’s not sure how to feel about singing something so…  _romantic_  right next to Logan — but he gives it his all. Halfway through the song, he gets his wish.

Roman Kingsley appears at the edge of the lot, watching them with an unreadable expression. Virgil only falters for a moment, singing as best he can as he beckons Roman closer. Beside him, Logan gapes, looking between the two, and Virgil can’t help the drop of satisfaction he feels at the sight.

Roman hesitates, watching Logan. Virgil sings louder. At long last, just as the song reaches its end, Roman slowly floats towards them.

“Roman Kingsley?” Logan asks, and the ghost nods slowly, making that awful hissing, crackling noise. “Could we… ask you some questions?”

Roman raises an eyebrow, shooting Logan a look.  _Good luck,_  his expression seems to say, as he gestures to his throat, as slowly and obviously as one might point something out to a toddler. Logan bristles, and Virgil intervenes before the two can start to argue.

“We have a way for you to talk,” he says, holding out the spirit box. “You can —”

He doesn’t get another word out. Roman  _literally_  beams, his glow brightening.  _Do it,_  he mouths slowly, staring at the spirit box in reverence, and Virgil turns it on, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Immediately, static crackling fills the world, and Roman flinches back, watching it uncertainly. Virgil offers it to him, setting it on the ground between them, and Roman hesitantly sets a glowing orange hand atop the box.

“Well? Say something,” Logan prompts.

_“Something.”_

All three lean back in surprise as the word crackles through the speaker, even Logan and Virgil, who were expecting it. Excitement races through Virgil, and he can see it mirrored in Roman’s eyes. The ghost looks more relieved in that moment than Virgil has ever felt in his life, his eyes wide and sparkling.

Logan clears his throat, ready to question Roman until he’s completely satisfied, but Roman holds up a hand and swiftly cuts him off. He fixes his intent gaze on Virgil.

 _“What… were you… singing earlier?”_  he asks through the box.

“You mean…” Virgil hums a few verses of Sally’s Song and Roman nods. “That’s, uh, Sally’s Song. From The Nightmare Before Christmas. It’s a Disney movie.”

“Shouldn’t we —” Logan tries, but Roman cuts him off again, leaning forward excitedly.

 _“More Disney?”_  he asks, and Virgil nods, a smile tugging at his lips. Disney was one of his lesser-known favorite things; he’d never had anyone to talk about it with before. Roman lets out the ghostly equivalent of a dramatic gasp.  _“Tell me… everything.”_

Virgil does. He shoves his hands in his pockets and gets comfortable on the cold, ashy ground, and describes a couple of the newer Disney movies, to Roman’s great interest. As soon as he’s finished describing the plot of The Princess and the Frog, Logan clears his throat and cuts in.

“Not to interrupt this  _fascinating_  conversation,” he says, “but can we move on? I have some questions for you, Roman.”

Roman makes a noise like a dying fire that Virgil assumes is an annoyed huff.  _“About… what?”_  he asks through the static, though the trepidation in his tone suggests he already knows. Logan and Virgil share a look.

“About the night you died,” Logan says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Roman’s eyes narrow and his mouth clamps shut, his fingers curling around the edge of the spirit box.

“If you’re comfortable with it,” Virgil adds, shooting Logan a look. Scaring away the ghost was the last thing he wanted to do. Roman still looks uncertain, though, and slightly offended at Logan’s tactless tone, so Virgil acts on instinct and sweetens the deal.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, and Roman’s eyes widen as he turns it on. “I can show you the movie through here,” he says. “I have some downloaded. If you help us out, we can watch some together.”

 _“You have… your own… magic mirror?”_  Roman stares at the phone with wide-eyed wonder, his mouth agape. Virgil snorts and Logan rolls his eyes, clearing his throat to wipe the amusement from his face.

“That is a cell phone,” Logan says. “Technology, not magic. It —”

“— Can show movies,” Virgil cuts in, before Logan can start rambling on how cell phones work. _Maybe later,_  he says with a glance. “It can play any Disney movie you want.” He scrolls through his Disney folder, holding it up for Roman to see.

“If you are willing to answer our questions, we will sit here and allow you to watch them. We just want some information about your death.” Logan meets Roman’s gaze, and Roman glances between him and the phone, biting his lip.

 _“Fine,”_  Roman says after a moment.  _“But you… have to tell me… how that magic mirror works too.”_

Virgil snorts at the way Logan’s eyes light up, and Logan elbows him in retaliation. “You got it, Princey,” he says, and Roman makes an amusedly indignant noise at the nickname, raising an eyebrow. Virgil laughs, tapping into his notes app and nodding to Logan.

“Right. Let’s get down to business.” Logan says ( _“to defeat the huns,”_  Virgil mutters, and Logan elbows him again). “First and foremost: it is the belief of many that the fire was no accident. Do you know if someone set the fire? Do you know who?”

Roman stiffens.  _“It was… not an accident,”_  he says. A moment passes, and then another, and Virgil’s heart sinks at the fear that floods the ghost’s eyes. He’s not answering — terror has begun to shroud his face — and with a start, Virgil realizes his gaze has slipped from him and Logan to a spot just behind them. An electric chill races down his spine and he whirls around.

“Patton?”

He stands at the other end of the lot, his human glamour flickering in and out, revealing his demonic form every other second. The sight of Roman seems to fill him with terror. Virgil’s blood runs cold as he comes to an awful conclusion, and he shoots unsteadily to his feet, looking between the ghost and the demon.

 _ **“He did.”**_  Roman’s voice is alight with burning terror and fury, his form shimmering and glitching in and out of view. The air begins to simmer. Patton takes shaky steps back, gaze darting around the burnt lot with shaken familiarity, and Virgil’s heart sinks lower.

“Mr. Kingsley, please, calm down,” Logan says hurriedly, climbing to his feet. Virgil steps towards Patton with his hands raised, pleading silently for him to calm down. The situation has gone from wonderful to horrible so quickly, he’s got whiplash.

 _ **“He set the fire,”**_  Roman says,  _screams._   _ **“And you… know him — you know him, you’re wị͎͈̗̗̜͕̒̏̿̾̽͆̐tͩh͕̝̪͎̜̤̳ ̝̪̳̭ͧ͗ͣ̓h̫̲̥̪͖̺̯͑̌ͣ̊ͬ̎͛ǐ͎̟̓m̜͓̖.”**_

“No, Roman, that’s not —” Virgil’s voice catches in his throat. It’s too hot, blisteringly hot, and the dust at Patton’s feet has begun to swirl as his power flares out of control. He can’t get a hold of his voice — panic has begun to spasm in his chest and he  _can’t_  —

“This is a misunderstanding,” Logan says, and fear has even begun to seep into his voice, which really makes Virgil feel confident about their situation. “If you two could just c-calm down and  _listen —”_

 _ **“NǑ̥̝̩͎͉̖ͮ̉ͯ͒̈!͚̲͋ͪ”**_  Roman screams, and Patton winces and slams his hands over his ears, his eyes glowing uncontrollably red as tears stream down his face. “N̞̻̒̈O̺̰̜͓͚̞͑̊ͪ͐̃͑̊ͅ N̗͙̰ͦͬ͂O̦̬͇͆ͪ̇ͪͅ ̽ͨͪ͐̚N̥̘̦̼̆̂̓ͭO̓̓ ͗̚N͉̥ͅO ̻̖̰̗̳̩̘͐̆ͦ̌̽͂͒NǑ͛̾ ̮̖͖̜̻̬ͯ̍ͤ͗ͯͥ—̖͈̥̩͍̝̟̌͐͐̍͐̌̚”

The world flares bright red and searing heat explodes from where Roman stands — and Virgil’s hand finds Logan’s as, in a rush of pain, the world goes dark.


End file.
